


Pet, Prince, Prisoner.

by elenatria



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Light BDSM, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Orgy, allusions mostly, but hear ya go, frostmaster, not sure if I have the balls to take this to extremes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria
Summary: Tiny headcanon for Loki's first encounter with the Grandmaster.





	1. New guest

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got this out of my head.  
> Finally.  
> Please.  
> Enjoy.

                                                                                      

 

Loki didn’t land on one of Sakaar’s dumps like Thor. In true jumping-through-Dr Strange’s-wormholes fashion, he ended up on the floor of the Grandmaster’s brightly coloured Living-dolls-room; a fitting name for the place where the Master of Treasures and Garbage collected his all prized possessions, his beautiful people, his “living pleasure dolls”. 

He was playing “My sugar baby just cares for me” on the piano when a creature of sinful beauty and exquisite grace fell flat on his face out of nowhere, messy dark locks all over the place, big blue eyes staring up at him in utter shock. Shock because somehow he was still alive and hadn’t been spaghettified by the wormhole that brought him there, or was it because he was suddenly surrounded by a colourful and scantily dressed cortege of faceless socialites with pouty lips and obscenely long and slimy tentacles?  The Grandmaster didn’t know (and couldn’t give a toss given the fact that he had two collared boys on their knees with one hand wandering under his robes and the other jerking each other) but he surely gasped in contentment at the look of perfect fear and abandonment in his captive’s eyes. 

_“Captive”?_

Without a doubt. There was no way this god-like vision would choose to stay in his court of his own free will. The stranger would learn to love it there even if orgies weren’t his thing but, in the meantime, this heaven-sent “guest” would probably need more than a little persuasion. The Grandmaster drew a gun from underneath the keyboard and shot the beautiful stranger, planting a small glowing disc on his neck.

The trickster god, now on his knees, flinched with a pained “ARGH!” and reached for the disc.

“Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn’t touch that,” the Grandmaster warned raising his ringed hand, “it still burns, you know.”

“It’s burning my  _neck_  too,” Loki hissed under his breath trembling slightly as he stood on his feet.

“Yeah, well, your neck will get used to that,” the Grandmaster waved indifferently, “but we wouldn’t want those beautiful digits getting burned, would we? Lovely, long fingers with such perfect nails, so full of potential, let me… let me take a look at them.”

He took Loki’s hands in his inspecting them, brushing a varnished thumb over their pale knuckles and veins with sensual playfulness. “A pianist’s hands!” he exclaimed and turned to his guests who were ever ready to applaud their master and host as they eagerly awaited the naughty surprises he had in store for them.

Loki shifted his eyes from one corner of the room to the other spotting the luscious chaise longues, the crux decussatas on the walls, the spanking benches, the slaves in funnel gags, the cages. He also noticed the cameras hanging from every corner; so many cameras, so many angles, and people moving lazily among them as if used to being monitored and filmed.

“Now now, there’s nothing to worry about,” the Grandmaster soothed him flashing his perfect teeth as he pushed Loki’s chin with his finger to turn his face back to him. “You see, a fine specimen like you has two choices when he ends up in my court. Prisoner?…” 

He pointed towards the far end of the room at a tank that was almost filled with water. The naked young man who was floating in it, chained, struggling to keep his head above the surface, was coughing in agony while his jerking feet didn’t do much to improve his situation. A group of aliens with huge fist-like knobs where their dicks should be were sitting around the tank, working their cocks or each other’s and occasionally staining the unbreakable glass with their fluorescent cum as their animalistic grunts signaled their successive orgasms.

Before Loki had time to register the suffering in the young man’s pleading eyes the Grandmaster turned on his heels and with a dancing gesture he pointed at a half-naked couple on the nearest chaise longue. One could not tell if they were male or female but for all their heavy make-up they barely seemed of age. 

“Or pet?” suggested the Grandmaster as he nodded towards the pair that kept fondling each other as one of them shoved his tongue down his partner’s throat, earning delighted moans and sneaking naughty glances at their petrified guest. “You see, it’s always the two P’s in here, Prisoner or Pet, Penis or Pussy, one can’t decide, can he?” the golden clad host joked moving his tanned hands like a scale. “So what is it gonna be, sweet cheeks?”

Loki cocked an unimpressed brow and with his nail he checked the thickness of the disc and the length of its claws buried in his skin as if fiddling idly with an earring. 

“I would say pet,” he shrugged, causing the Grandmaster to break a tiny anticipating smile. “but I have a third P for you, my dear friend. How about… prince?”

“Prince?” the Grandmaster narrowed his eyes with joyful curiosity. “Now that’s a new one.”

“A prince,” Loki nodded as he seemed to grow more confident with each word, with each new twinkle in his captor’s eyes. “A prince who would do _anything_ to please his king as long as he’s treated as royalty.”

The Grandmaster’s fascinated smile grew even wider. “Oooh I love this game!” he cheered rubbing his hands. “And what should the king do to win his prince’s favour?”

“Well I don’t know…” Loki replied leaning on the couch as he crossed his legs, pushing back his jacket to reveal his crotch in a promising posture that made the leather creak between his thighs. “Buy me new clothes for a start because I can’t possibly be seen in your court in these filthy Asgardian tatters, can I?” he urged his new friend looking up at a camera drone that was hovering over him, its lens attached to a phallic extension reaching for his face like a horny telescope. “I’m guessing you have a multitude of fans waiting anxiously for your next broadcast, haven’t you?”

“Oh new clothes for sure,” the Grandmaster murmured as he flicked the tip of his tongue. “Blue will look so good on you, my sweet sweet boy, Sakaarian blue, my favourite. So _so_ good…”

Loki took two steps towards him, looking him up and down and resting his eyes on his groin for a split second, blinking as if intrigued by what lied underneath that exceedingly long red belt. “And another thing,” he cooed as he straightened the Grandmaster’s collar and let his fingers slip down the rim of his robe.  

“Anything you want,” the Grandmaster offered with half-closed eyes, delighted at his new prisoner who was slowly but surely turning into an honoured guest.

“Maybe help me get rid of… this?...”

Loki dragged his hands over his ribs and pecs, his thumbs twitching slightly as they passed over where his nipples should be, finally reaching his neck. A light groan of discomfort escaped his lips as he knitted his brows and wrapped his long fingers around the side of his neck massaging it with deliberately slow moves that evoked even longer moans. That little display had the silver-haired man staring with huge wet eyes and a hanging jaw as he seemed to have forgotten about all his other guests, all his old “toys”, even the collared boys at his feet who had stopped jacking off and were waiting to see if the newcomer was about to be the giver or the taker in this establishment.

Until Loki’s finger started tapping on the disc.

 “Oh no no, sweetie, that can’t be done,” the Grandmaster answered widening his eyes in fake concern. “That’s for your own safety. It’s dangerous out there, we wouldn’t want you to get lost or anything, people on this planet are cannibals! I know the disc can be sometimes painful but in time you’ll learn to love it, I promise you.”

“Oh I don’t mind the pain…” Loki said giving him the most seductive smile he could wear under the circumstances as he slid his palm over the thick arm of the sofa, slowly fanning out his fingers to squeeze deep and hard, making sure the Grandmaster noticed every single move. “I have an uncanny resistance to it, it seems. It’s just that-” he paused licking his lips as if trying to find the right words. 

When he raised his eyes on the Grandmaster’s face again every trace of hopelessness was gone. He bent over the older man’s shoulder, caressing his ear with his hot breath.

“It’s just that I’m not into electrostim, my friend. Not really my thing,” he shook his head casually. “I can perform better when I’m not forced into things, you’ll like me better when I’m more… welcoming.”

His blue gaze, heavy with desire, now belonged to a man eager to beg, eager to please. Eager to forget his previous life and whatever complications had brought him there.

“Is that so?” the Grandmaster asked with glazed eyes drinking in Loki’s scent as soft raven hair washed over his cheek like a breeze.

“Try me,” Loki whispered his provocation pushing his knee between the Grandmaster’s thighs, rubbing the growing hardness over the fabric.

“I will,” the tyrant reassured him as he slipped the fob device out of his pocket and pressed the button, deactivating the obedience disc on Loki’s neck. “In every _possible_ way.”


	2. Assberg's Golden Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s new status as the Grandmaster's newest pet/prince/prisoner needs some getting used to. But he's more than willing to learn.

Over the course of just a few weeks Loki the Asgardian had become famous on Sakaar for many things; his divine dark-haired looks, his exquisite taste in clothes, his witty humour, his unique talent in storytelling. Still there was one trait of this heaven-sent prince that made flocks of wealthy tourists, curious passers by and intergalactic royalty swarm on the garbage planet like flies on honey.

His most welcoming hole.

A hole for everyone rich enough to afford it, every creature, every alien, every monster. A hole constantly stretched and soaked in semen and thirsty for his next guest, his next lover, his next _master._

It wasn’t just his resistance to pain that made him a delectable treat to perverts of all shapes, sizes and galaxies. What made him stand out from the Grandmaster’s previous pets, never letting him lose conscience, was his superhuman endurance, his godly stamina, his ability to stay awake for days and days. That made him feel everything, every pleasure, every pain. He soon got famous for taking so much cum that the Grandmaster’s entourage would line up just to witness his asshole dripping endless strings of load just as it was being filled and hammered and, if their pockets had enough units, they would get a taste themselves of that tight ass, “Assberg’s Golden Hole” as the Grandmaster liked to put it.

Sometimes during those endless days and nights Loki would stoop to begging just to be given a single cup of water while chained, his masters being partial to other kinds of fluids to keep him hydrated. That was the deal – an hour of gulping down whatever the funnel gag had to offer for a glass of clear water that would dribble out of the corners of his desperate mouth before it got stuffed again with the humongous rod of the next “honoured guest”. Sometimes he would moan with pleasure like the needy slut he was expected to be, sometimes he would just close his eyes and dream of a crystal spring in Asgard.

But there was no Asgard anymore, not for him.

Just the Grandmaster and a never-ending row of horny visitors.

More times than he could count, more times that he cared to remember, Loki would find himself lying on his back, arms and legs sprawled out like a dazed starfish in the smoldering sun. His wrists and ankles were held down by blue slimy tentacles coiling around him, tireless and agile. Another eager extension of the monster’s massive body would twirl and pump vigorously around his cock, tickling the swollen head with its suction cups like dozens of hungry lips, tightening its grip around the base whenever the thickest tentacle of them all impaled him with maddeningly quick thrusts.

Loki remained bed-bound most of the time as the Grandmaster liked him that way, half-conscious, but he was always allowed to move his neck freely, to lift his head just enough to witness thick droplets of his own cum dripping down his shaft, mixing with the creature’s own fluids like a lazy stream of fluorescent blue spill – or pink, or orange.

“Oh _fuck -_ AH…!”

Loki would yelp and whimper and beg in drug-enhanced ecstasy watching his dick drown in alien spill as he felt the thick tentacle reaching such depths inside him that would make any mortal scream in agony. But not Loki. Loki was a god. He was _made_ for this as he was told repeatedly while his head rested on the Grandmaster’s lap, his hair, his cheeks, his lips brushed gently by ringed fingers, his head enveloped by golden clad thighs, his feverish forehead soothed by soft “shhhh”s as his master bent over his lips to drink in his long and loud orgasms.

His immortal nature made him endure every new level of pain and that was certainly one of the main reasons why the Grandmaster loved him so much. The tyrant had found himself the perfect unbreakable toy.

“That’s it, that’s my boy. Come on, _come_ on, give me all your load, honey, that’s… it. That’s- Oh… oh look at that, look at _thaaaaat_ \- no no no no don’t jerk away from it, baby, look!” the Grandmaster would urge Loki, his thighs strong against his prisoner’s pale cheeks, pushing his chin upwards as he showed him the hovering camera. “Everybody’s watching, sweetie, come on, will you let them down now? Let the Akkorokamui do its job, come on, loosen that sweet ass of yours, let the blessing of the Akkorokamui penetrate you, fill your being with its holy essence, with its – OOOOOOOH that’s my boy, that’s my _boyyyy_ … Oh Loki.. Oh Loki you did it, honey, you did it again, look at you…” he would coo staring at his fingers coated with Loki’s semen as if it was something delicious as well as sacred. “You did it, baby, oh I love you, Loki, daddy loves you, daddy loves you _very_ much, oh baby _oh…”_

There were all kinds of drugs for the Grandmaster’s princely pet, drugs to keep him hard for nights on end, drugs to keep him tight, drugs to loosen him up, depending on the creature, the size, the kink.

But when the party was over, when the rich and colourful guests were finally sated and flew back to their home planets, ready to share the recordings of their happy adventures into “Assberg’s Golden Hole”, there was one drug Loki craved but would never get, the drug he would pick over any glass of water but was constantly denied.

The drug to forget.


End file.
